Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

In Err, My Suffering	By : westernink Category: Rurouni Kenshin > General Views: 5774 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
�� In Err, My Suffering

Part III of V

*�� *�� *�� *

Disclaimer:�
Why do I even need one of these?�
I do not own Rurouni Kenshin
or the characters thereof.�� Used without
permission.

Credit:�
This story was inspired by a fanfic I truly love called "Loving a
Killer" written by Tiian.� I got the idea from reading that, and the
said author's permission to write this piece.�

*�� *�� *

�� Misao
stared at the ceiling.� The floor had been
cold against her back at first, but it had warmed as she laid there.

�� He
was gone.

�� Aoshi.

�� He
had left almost ten minutes ago.� She
hadn't moved since.

�� Her
body was both satisfied and aching all at the same time.� The tiny space between her legs was wet and
tender.� She rubbed her thighs together,
not sure if she liked the slick, sliding feeling or if it just made her feel dirty.

�� She
heaved a heavy sigh and sat up, still feeling his hands on her hips, moving
underneath her, inside her.

�� She
smiled lazily.

�� But
he'd left.

�� He'd
pressed kisses along every inch of her skin he could reach and then quietly
left her.

�� He
hadn't said two words to her, just gone.

��

�� Shinomori
Aoshi, the man she loved.� Shinomori
Aoshi, the man with a head full of rocks, she though dismally.

�� She
wanted to curse him and smack him a good one, but of course she wouldn't.�

�� He
probably deserved it.

�� Even
so, she got the kind of feeling from him that maybe he simply didn't know what
to do.� Aoshi always felt to her like he was
stumbling along blind and she couldn't bring herself to hold him accountable
for that.

�� It
was always felt to her that he was doing the best he knew how, worrying and
doubting and blaming himself along the way.

�� She
sat up and absently pulled on her robe.�
The hall was quiet, it was still early evening, there
hadn't even been dinner yet.�

�� With
a frown and a head full of jumbled Aoshi thoughts, she headed for the bath
house.

�� She wasn't even halfway to the stairs before
an arm shot of the dark and yanked her into a side room.

�� She
yelped, trying to yank her arm back from her would-be snatcher.� Or, maybe he was a snatcher,
he had pulled her into the room successfully.

�� She
expected to see Aoshi.

�� He
didn't disappoint, there he was.�� Hand still
wrapped around her arm.�

�� "Could
you let go?" she asked, feeling a bit uncertain about seeing him so soon.

�� His
room was dark with only moonlight shining through the open window.� Despite the low light, she could see the
expression on his face well enough to know something was about to happen.

�� Something
she wasn't necessarily guaranteed to like.

�� "Misao..."

�� If
he said one word about being guilty or what they did was wrong, she'd slap him
silly.

�� "Don't
say anything."�

�� He
stepped back from her.� "I cannot say
nothing."

�� "Okay,
fine.� Go ahead, but I just know
you're going to say something stupid and make me angry."

�� She
crossed her arms and waited, feeling a little bit childish, like she was
waiting for a scolding she knew was inevitable.

�� He
turned his back to her and after a few moments he turned to face her once more.

�� Silence
stretched long and tight and ended in Misao's patience snapping.� She cleared her throat.

�� "Can
we do this tomorrow?"

�� He
didn't say anything.��

�� "Cause...
um... no offense or anything," she felt her discomfort grow.� "I kinda want
a bath."

�� She
opened her mouth to tell him why, but then, of course, he already knew so...

�� "Tomorrow
then," he said and his voice crisp and... dismissing.

�� She
let it go, too eager to get away.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� The
wind blew slightly, fluttering, rustling.�
He stood so straight, tall and proud.�
He was more beautiful than she remembered.� Far more beautiful.

�� This
man who had been her guardian...

�� Why?

�� Why
couldn't some brotherly, fatherly feelings well up in her?� Why couldn't she feel for him the way she was
feeling for the others at the Aoiya?� Why
couldn't she regard him like she did Shiro or Kuro?

�� Why?

�� He
turned, his body perfectly fine tuned for battle.� His eyes were dark, a deep pitch, a pit, a
coal black night...

�� A
shudder took hold of her shoulders and swept down her spine.

�� "Aoshi-sama?"

�� Her
voice was a whisper, a plea on the wind, but he only stared at her
impassively.� The eyes
of one far-away or disengaged.

�� She
meant nothing, she thought, staring into those eyes.

�� The
tremble shook her body harder as he moved, the foreign coat shifting around his
frame elegantly.�

�� His
movements were smooth and his body sleek as he glided toward her.� She couldn't see an ounce of blood upon his
person, not one speck.

�� Had
the battle with Okina meant so little?

�� Had
he become so adept at slaughtering people that he could avoid the spray of
blood?

�� She
swallowed hard as he neared, one step and then another.� He raised a hand and she felt the rough pads
of his fingertips against her face.

�� The
trembling wouldn't stop.� She stared,
their eyes meeting, blue... just blue.

�� From
the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of silver.� Her mouth fell open as it pierced through
her, shiny metal dulled with the sheen of blood through her chest.�

�� She
choked staring at the piece of kodachi poking out the
material of her uniform.

�� She
looked up, her eyes meeting his... Those dark pools.

�� The pools that promised death.

�� "Ao..shi... saama..."
she mouthed the words, but her voice was already dead.

�� She
never felt the ground as she impacted with it.

�� Misao
woke, jolted awake, her breath choppy.�
She sat up shakily, not quite able to stop the quivering of her limbs or
the pounding of her heart.

�� Numbly,
she slipped from her room.

�� Another midnight stroll, another walk alone, another night peering
into the darkness and seeing only Aoshi's eyes.

�� The
eyes that held death, the eyes of one who's soul was
being eaten alive, corrupted, stained, tainted...

�� She
heard movement in the kitchen and headed in that direction.� She stood in the doorway and watched as Aoshi
moved around.� She would've expected tea,
but it wasn't, just a little plate of pastries.�
Was he hungry at this hour?

�� She
stepped into the room and he showed no signs of having seen her.� When she sat at the table with him he just
pushed the plate toward her in offering.�
She accepted and nibbled on a piece of sweet cake as she stared at him.

�� His
eyes were clear and colored, not darkened with death.

�� He
looked like the man who appeared in her early memories, albeit older.

�� She
opened her mouth to speak and trailed off.�
"A-"

�� He
didn't look up.� "What?"� The tone was soft, low, but held sort of a gruffness to it at the same time.

�� "Would
you... let me do something?"

�� At
that, he did look up.

�� "Do
something?"

�� She
nodded.� "I want..." she
trailed off, feeling awkward.�

�� He
didn't press, he waited.

�� "I
want to... Can... I'm not sure how to say it."

�� "Direct
is best," he advised, still staring at her.

�� He
looked tired, she noted.� Like he hadn't slept enough the previous few nights.

�� "Can
I touch you?"

�� He
didn't look surprised, but he didn't immediately answer.�� After several strained moments of silence, he
did.

�� "Touch
me, how?"

�� She
frowned.� "Like... Well... not like that..."
she blushed slightly.� "I
mean...� You never let me touch you.� Just normally."

�� He
raised his eyes again, she couldn't remember them moving away, but she hadn't
been staring at him directly.�

�� He
reached and touched the same calloused fingertips from the dream to her face
and she trembled.� She couldn't stop the
trembling.� The movement was soft, a
faint touch, a gentle circling with the pads of his fingers.

�� But
then he stood up and stared down at her.�

�� His
eyes weren't dark - they were clear, but burdened.� Weighed with guilt and sadness...

�� "You're
afraid of me, Misao."

�� The
tone was soft, mournful.� He didn't take
anything off the plate, he just turned and walked out
of the room.�

�� She
sat there, still trembling.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� Come
morning, she was not happy.� She hadn't
slept much and the humid air was suffocating.�
She came down the steps and had almost made it to the door to head
outside when she was caught by the back of her collar.

�� She
swung around. "Hey!"

�� Okina
was grinning at her impishly.�
"Aoshi-sama is waiting for you at the Temple.�
Off with you now, young lady."

�� He
said it so happily as though something were happening there.� Grumpily, she headed off in that direction,
not really thrilled about encountering him.

�� But
as she came upon the Temple,
she really didn't have any choice.� She
could already see him sitting there so still and perfect just... waiting for
her.

�� It
felt like a death march and it shouldn't.

�� Seeing
her Aoshi-sama should not be something she dreaded.

�� She
hopped up the steps and waited in the doorway.�
She cleared her throat anxiously.�
When he didn't acknowledge her like she expected, she had to call out to
him.

�� "Aoshi-sama?"

�� He
moved, shifted and then lowered his head a moment before slowly standing
up.� She couldn't bring herself to say
anything else to him.

�� He
turned to face her and the front of his yukata gaped
slightly.� He stood there, towering and
silent like some kind of living fortress and she didn't know what to do.

�� "Come
with me."

�� He
walked forward and past her and she followed.�
The words from the previous night returned to her head and she frowned
and opened her mouth to speak when she found herself in front of... the river?

�� She
cast him a skeptical look, but he wasn't looking at her.

�� He
was staring out over the surface of the water.

�� "You
wanted to touch me, you said?"

�� Oh!

�� She
straightened.� He was going to let her?

�� He
turned back to face her, nothing showed over those impassive features.

�� She
hesitated, coming no further, no closer.�
"I'm not afraid of you."

�� He
didn't seem to hear.� But after several
moments, his voice reached her.�
"Yes, you are."

�� "No!� No I'm not.�
I just... I had a bad dream."

�� "A dream of me?"

�� He
was already turned away and she opened her mouth to protest when the sash
around his waist loosed and she gasped.�
He peeled the loose yukata over his shoulders
and it fell to his hips.�

�� Aoshi-sama
had the most glorious hips.� He was the
most beautiful man in the world.� No
matter what the others said about moving on or there being others, she just
couldn't believe it.� There wasn't anyone
like Aoshi.

�� No one.

�� Nowhere at all.

�� She
wasn't going to look for something she didn't want.

�� "Come
here."

�� Could
she not obey that?

�� She
came up to stand near his side, but more toward the back of him. Not too close
either.� She wasn't close enough to feel
the heat of his skin, that would be too close.

�� "Are
you too afraid?"

�� His
voice was low and almost melodic.�

�� But
there was want there... She couldn't deny that.�
He wanted her to touch him.

�� She
knew, deep down, he did.

�� She
stepped up and then around him, coming to face the broad, scarred chest she so
adored.

�� Even
damaged he was beautiful.

�� He
was looking up, over her head, across the water.� She reached up to press her palms across the
flat, hard plane of his stomach and she could feel the faint tremble, twitch of
muscles beneath her hands.�

�� She'd
wanted this... Why was she so hesitant?

�� He
wasn't a holy object...

�� He
wasn't a relic...

�� He
wasn't something that could break beneath her touch...

�� Why?

�� She
pressed her palms flat and ran them up, against his skin.� It almost felt like heat flaring beneath her
fingers.� His chest was broad and beautiful.

�� His
scars were patches of raised skin, some rougher textured than others.

�� She
raised her hands up, as far as she could go and pressed.� She wanted him down, lower to the ground.

�� He
obeyed and knelt onto his knees for her, but his gaze was no longer centered
over her shoulder, but on her.� It was
deep and intense and wanting... and...

�� How
had she ever thought this man was something beyond just human?� How had she ever viewed him as something she
couldn't reach?

�� His
gaze was raw and it seemed to have a tint of desperation.

�� What
was he desperate for?

�� "Aoshi-sama... " It was a faint murmuring, almost lost among the
whistle above their head in the trees.�
What did he want?� Could she give
it to him?� "What do you want from
me?"

�� He
raised his hands, his whole body seemed to shift around her, surrounding her,
and momentarily she was lost to it.� Weakened by his sheer physical presence.

�� His
large hands cupped her face and he leaned closer.� "I never want to see your eyes lifted
toward me in fear. �Never tremble if I
reach for you..."

�� He
started to let go when she began to protest and she leaned forward to mirror
her hands against his face.� "Don't
ask for that, Aoshi-sama."

�� Her
voice was soft, but steady.�

�� "You
have bad dreams about losing Hannya and the others.� I have bad dreams about you sometimes."

�� He
started again to slide away from her but she stopped him.� "Please..."

�� He
stopped moving and remained still, dropping his hands
from her face down to slid them around her waist.� He leaned his chin against her shoulder.

�� "Why
don't you hate me for it?"� His
voice was gruff and thick with self-reproach.�
"I dishonored you... I shamed you."

�� She
dropped her head and his guilt increased at her silent acknowledgement of the
accusation.

�� He done exactly that.�
He couldn't hide from it.� Misao
would not spare him his guilt, not all of it.�

�� "Is
it a bad thing, Aoshi-sama?� That I care
for you so much?"

�� Their
embrace tightened and then they slipped away from one another as though some
silent bell had rung.

�� They
walked back to the Aoiya in silence and parted there.

�� No
one noticed.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� Misao
was something he didn't understand.�
Nothing about her really made sense to him.� How she thought was the biggest mystery of
all...

�� Hadn't
he hurt her?

�� Yes.

�� Hadn't
he betrayed her trust?

�� Yes.

�� Hadn't
he abandoned her?

�� Yes.

�� He'd
done all of these things and she still loved him.� Did he fail to understand love?� Did he love her with the same devotion?

�� When
Himura had told him about Misao's taking over as the
Okashira, it hadn't been enough to draw him back from his path of chaos.� He was still going for death.

�� Why
had it been her crying for him?�
Crying?� Why had it been her pain,
her suffering ... More suffering.

�� Misao
should never suffer.

�� He'd
never wanted that.

�� Suffering
because he'd hurt her... On the forest ground he'd hurt her.� Taken something from her
that wasn't his to take.�

�� And
she cried when Himura promised to return him.� Did she want him back or was she afraid to
see him again?

�� And
the answer had tormented him and haunted and scathed him...

�� What
had he found when he returned to the Aoiya?�
A proud young woman, someone who embraced him.�

�� Someone
who acted as though nothing had ever happened...

�� He
hadn't almost taken the life of her adoptive grandparent.� He hadn't threatened the lives of those at
the Aoiya.� He hadn't held her hips in
his hands and forced a joining she hadn't consented to.� He hadn't allowed the Aoiya to be attacked by
ninjas and then the selected group of the Juppon Gatana.�

�� She
could and had denied it all and everyone else followed her lead.�

�� What
had he done but batter her in some form for almost her entire existence?� What had he done but cause her pain and
unhappiness?

�� Why
was he deserving of her forgiveness?

�� Was
he worthy?

�� "Aoshi-sama?"

�� Her
small voice from the direction of the doorway stirred him from his
musings.� His attempts at meditating and
his search for inner peace usually ended in one of two ways... With the sound of gun fire or the distinct pitch of Misao's moans.

�� Both
he loathed for different reasons.

�� "Aoshi-sama?"
she spoke again, a soft inquiring sound.

�� "Yes?"

�� "Would
you do me a favor?"

�� He
turned back to glance at her and there she stood in a soft, off-color yukata.� The others
were long asleep by now.

�� He
waited for the request.

�� "Would
you come upstairs with me?"

�� Her
voice was so soft and tentative.� Come
upstairs with her?� What kind of sweet
torture did she now intend to inflict upon him?

�� "I don't know if you can't
have bad dreams when you're with a certain person, but I'd like to try.� Maybe you'll be a good luck charm or
something."

�� If
she was going for flippant, it came off badly.�
He stood up.

�� She
was inviting him to her bed?

�� He
cursed himself.

�� He
told himself to stop and sit back down.

�� His
inner conscience howled and moaned and sank deep accusing claws into him, but
he walked on.

�� Closer and closer.

�� She
turned away before he reached her and he paused at the doorway, watching her go
up.� Then he followed.

�� Slowly,
one step and then another until he was in front of her doorway.� She held open the door and waited for him to
enter, and he did.� Her room was like he
remembered it, completely unchanged.

�� Her
futon was a tiny oasis on the floor.� He,
without invitation or guidance, slid into the little bed and leaned into
it.� He pressed his nose against her
linens and breathed her in while he waited for her to join him.

�� He
turned his head to watch her.� Her feet
were tiny and perfectly formed.� They
connected to slim ankles and thin legs that vanished beneath the hem of her yukata.

�� A
deep hollow ache inside him woke.� Like a
bottomless pit that one could feed forever and not fill, not satisfy.� He ached for her, his body purred with a low,
humming rhythm.� A
warmth, a pulsing awareness�

�� She
slowly crossed the floor and slid into the bed with him.� The bed linens curled around them, tucking
them in.� He turned to his side and she
pressed against him, her arm sliding around his waist, her cheek against his
chest.�

�� Her
movements were slow and unsure as if she didn�t know if he would allow her
near.

�� He
curled an arm around her tiny waist and pulled her tight against him.� She mumbled something he didn�t catch.�

�� They
laid there for a long time.

�� Eventually,
Misao drifted off.

�� Memories
of her running her hands against his chest returned to him.� The tiny soft pads of her fingers against her
skin�� The edges of her nails against his
skin�

�� He
lowered his head and nuzzled against her.��

�� She
sighed softly in her sleep and murmured something incomprehensible.� He lowered his head to press his lips to her
neck, shifting her body against him, up.

�� He
slid his hand from his waist to her back and grabbed a fistful of her yukata and pulled, sliding the collar down, tugging at the
material near her neck to gain access to more of her skin.

�� He
pushed it off her shoulder entirely, letting it crumple just beneath her collar
bone on one side.� He pulled more of her
against him; it was never enough, never too much.

*�� *�� *�� *��

Author's Notes:�
This is chapter 3 version 2.� This
chapter was rescued by Kettering.� *laughs*� ^_^��
[If you'd read the original, you'd be sending Kettering thank-you notes.]
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

In Err, My Suffering